


Aftermath| IT Chapter 3

by SketchiIsChaotic



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aftermath, Angst, Book and Movie Cannon, Eventual Romance, F/M, Gay Richie Tozier, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Other, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Revival of Eddie, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Romance, Sad, These boys just need to be happy but its hard bc we gonna have sad build up yes, shit hurted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 17:28:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21285449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SketchiIsChaotic/pseuds/SketchiIsChaotic
Summary: Richie Tozier is struggling with accepting Eddie's death and the demise of Pennywise. Everyone has seem to be able to love and move on, but Richie is left alone and no one can understand. Until, someone comes back to visit.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier, Bill Denbrough & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier & Everyone
Kudos: 11





	Aftermath| IT Chapter 3

**Author's Note:**

> -MIX OF BOOK AND MOVIE CANNON  
-Not the 90s Movie Though  
-Takes place in 2019  
-Use of homophobic language  
-PTSD, Trauma, and Depression  
-Yes, it will get happy eventually.

Love isn’t meant for men of likes of Richie Tozier God didn’t allow love to be handed to those who didn’t deserve. Or at least love wasn’t allowed to be kept to those deemed unworthy of it. Those who couldn’t cherish it, those who were estranged. That’s how Richie felt. Alienated. He was in a world that knew he didn’t deserve love and he wasn’t ever going to possess it. Friendship maybe, something strong like that god would have the mercy of allowing, but love in a romantic sense would never come to the bug eyed man who has spent the last weeks of his spiraling life in a couch related hell while being covered in cheesy ball dust and inexplicable sadness. 

This sadness would not be aided and could not be aided, a man left to his own devices and those devices were simply not as satisfying as his once wish for love could’ve been. It’s not as if he didn’t know that love would never be in his grasp. At a young age he was constantly reminded of such. Denied female attraction due to the glasses that enlarged his eyes and already deep down in his remaining ID that had already denied the attraction to females within, looking for someone of similar anatomy. He would still be denied that, as men can’t love men. Bowers was an easy reminder of that. Men loving men may be accepted but not then, not when he grew up and even if accepted, it would not last. Richie would not be so lucky to have a partner who would last. At least not one he loved. As who could love him back and who could he love that was as lovely as his first love. Love doesn’t even feel like a word to him anymore. Contemplating the word he decided it is simply word. Simply vocabulary that can never be part of his vernacular. One of the absurdities of life.

Yet his mind still persisted. If it was simply a word then what was Beverly Marsh and Ben Hanscom’s nature of relationship? It wasn’t friendship and it wasn’t something Richie ever believe could happen, for Love was a word. Just a word to describe a feeling that was constantly fleeting and inaccessible to him. He supposed that may be he was incorrect and to others it wasn’t just vocabulary. It was something. It had to be, even Bill Denbrough had himself a wife he loved. 

_ What is love? _

Richie Tozier would question as he turned his long face towards the television that was the only comfort he had these days besides the insistent phone calls of Beverly asking if he was okay. But to him, what even is okay? He wasn’t injured. He wasn’t bleeding or crying. He was okay, by his standard. He wasn’t crying, Richie had ran out of room to cry. Crying now would just feel like a beggars game, it wouldn’t do anything.

When young, Richie used to watch all these ridiculous shows on television every Saturday. All these cartoons that had characters capable of showing all these ranges of emotions. They would share and show these stories of wolves chasing a fast bird and being hit with anvils or crying over not being able to catch a rabbit. He wondered what happened after he turned off his television. Would they cease their existence. Continue on in their fictional universe, trying to catch that rabbit during hunting season or did they feel nothing. They didn’t exist. That Yosemite Sam, was now...numb.

Did someone turn off Richie’s television? End his story without completion, before the happy ending and credits could emerge. Did someone unplug his story purposefully or did the power just go out? Who would do such a cruel thing?

His eyes stared at the colorful and expensive display, one that he purchased many years ago. Richie supposed it was time for an upgrade he could afford it, but he just didn’t wish to go through the efforts. His TV worked fine, it wasn’t anything fancy like a famous comedian would probably be expected to have, but it showed him what he wanted with a click of a button as any television did. The screen was crisp though the display the device stood upon was dusty and covered in trash, as was the rest of his large home. Richie also supposed he should hire someone to clean if he didn’t do it himself, but he just didn’t wish to go through the efforts.

The only thing he made time to do was eat. That’s all he’d been doing as of recently, putting on a few pounds in the process. He hadn’t left his house to go do any shows, hadn’t looked at any of his new material or practiced it. His agent had probably grown weary due to the lack of contact. He didn’t want to make any contact with anyone. Physical or social. He just wanted to bask in the colorful hue of the UV rays blasting from his flat screen.

Unfortunately he was disturbed by the gentle reverberate of his phone that flashed its screen to greet Richard with the name he was utterly irritated to see for the fourth time this week. He loved her, but as love is simply a vocabulary word he supposed it meant nothing to him. He liked her. They were great friends and she was the only one who called to check in on him, while he commonly just got supportive text messages from Billy, Mike, and Haystack. 

He took a deep breath and sat up, crumbs from various foodstuff rolled off his chest that was barren, uncovered by a shirt. He dusted the fragments off and answered his phone. He stood up and stretched ready to be greeted by the usual voice he heard so often. Richie put on a smile, it was easier that way, even if it wasn’t real. Talking to her in a tired tone would only concern her more.

“Hey, Richie.” Beverly Marsh spoke, her voice as usual was clear and precise, caring, as if she was speaking to an easily upset child. Which Richie felt like most of the time. “How are you doing, buddy?”

“As usual Ringwald, thriving.” Richie replied, with a small laugh. “Never a dull day around here, I’m thinking of adopting some kids.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. My house is a mess and they’re cheaper than maids and have way more energy.” He quipped with a small smile as he made his way through his hall to his kitchen. “It’ll be like having a human roomba, except I have to feed it.”

Beverly laughed at Richie’s comment, earning a sincere smile from the man who has been nothing but wallowing in his own filth. He wasn’t entirely kidding, his house was a mess, his kitchen primarily was the worst. Pot and pans were splayed everywhere along with attempts of food that he failed to make. Flies hovered around the half empty bowls of cereal that had dried into cement. He was quite surprised himself that at least the floor was clean. His smile toward Beverly’s amusement faded into a sorrowful one as he imagined the lecture he would get from a special someone for the state his home was in. 

“I don’t think that’s legal, ‘Chee.” Beverly lightly huffed through the fuzzy phone line. “But, seriously, how are you doing? You never call any of the others. They’re gettin’ worried.”

“I know, I’ve just been busy. Got new material to go over ya know? Looking at maybe being original for once and writing my own.” Richie fibbed, “Got a lot of ideas rattling in my noggin.”

“I’m happy for you then. It’s just after everything…After all of It.” Beverly trailed off as Richie felt his heart pound.

Thinking about It frightened him. He didn’t even want to refer to It as It. Because at this point It wasn’t just the beast, It wasn’t just It anymore.  _ It was Eddie too _ . Eddie shared a tomb with It, Eddie was now It. They were now It and it just made his stomach churn. His head began to reel and he gripped his greasy counter that was covered with tissues and paper towels. He could smell the sewers, smell blood, his own fear. He could feel liquid dripping from his face and in the moment he didn’t know if it was gray water or his own perspiration. 

It’s been months and years and Richie felt like he was there all over again. He felt like he was there with everyone at his side at Neilbolt 29. Where he and Bill Denbrough saw the werewolf, where Eddie Kaspbrak saw the leper, where they all faced It. As children and adults. All the fear and regret flushed back in heat waves. His heart was moving too fast. He couldn’t keep up, he couldn’t breath. He needed an inhaler, he needed Kaspbrak. Where was Eddie Kaspbrak?

Silence surrounded him as he huffed and gripped the counter tighter and tighter. What was he feeling? Why was he spiraling? It was over, It was all over. He was over. If only he had gone missing, if only Richie Tozier had gone missing like the paper said. Richie wouldn’t have this unsteady heart and unsteady feeling in his bones. He wouldn’t be shaking like a wet dog lost in an alleyway with no end. He always thought the scariest thing would be the deadlights, would be when he returned to Derry, Maine. 

No, it was the aftermath. That his brain would rattle through just remembering what he never wished to remember. That it was so permanent but impermanent. No one would know what happened and no one could understand his anguish. Richie would spend the rest of his days going crazy. Crazy old Richard Trashmouth Tozier, the B rated Comedian who’s impressions were all he had as everyone who cared for him died and left. Lonely and afraid, the faggot Richie Tozier.

_ Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. _

_ Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. _

_ Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. _

_ Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. _

_ Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. _

_ Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. _

_ Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. _

_ Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. _

_ Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. _

_ Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. _

_ Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. _

_ Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. _

_ Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. _

_ Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. _

_ Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. _

_ Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. _

_ Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. _

_ Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. _

_ Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. _

_ Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. _

_ Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. _

_ Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. _

_ Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. _

_ Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. _

_ Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. _

_ Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. _

_ Lonely fucking faggot. _

“Richie?” A voice snapped him out of his thoughts, Beverly was still on the phone and he was still in his kitchen, gripping on to the counter like a scared child.

He tossed his phone on to the counter as he rushed to his disgusting sink full of chunks of cereal and about to be full of his chunks as he began to ralph into the metal kitchen sink. He felt the disgusting amounts of snacks he ate wolf their way up his throat and out his unbrushed mouth, getting stuck in his teeth and landing in the dirty dishes beneath his head. 

It was disgusting, he felt disgusting, the yellow and orange from the cheesy balls he devoured mixed with the milk he drank earlier that day and stomach acid and phlegm all added up into a sour smell that resided in the sink he had no desire to clean up. He stared at it as his eyes watered, his glasses slipping off and falling into the spew with a small squish and clatter.

Richie could hear Beverly yell from the phone asking if he was okay, if he was there. He couldn’t keep denying it. The tears he originally hoped were just a natural reaction to his vomit became balls and streamed down his cheeks. Richie let out a deafening sob that got choked up in his throat. Saliva dripped it’s way down out of his mouth and splattered blow him. He was disgusting. Richie Tozier was disgusting. He wasn’t okay. He wasn’t numb anymore. He was numb by choice because it hurt, it hurt to think about It.

The phone rattled with Beverly’s insistent yelling, Ben’s voice could also be recognized from the back seeming as concerned as she is. Richie leaned over with his glasses, feeling around the counter for his phone. He picked it up unsteadily and placed it to his ear, listening to the combination of Beverly and Ben’s voice. 

“Beverly, I’m not okay.” 


End file.
